


Girl Crush

by tomatoesarefruits



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - Paris, Eventual Smut, F/M, Female Harry, Fluff, Gender Dysphoria, Light Angst, Trans Harry, she/her harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:34:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29072643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomatoesarefruits/pseuds/tomatoesarefruits
Summary: The year is 1963 and Harry is satisfied with her peaceful Parisian life, she's sure that making the one way trip from her hometown to pursue her music career was the right decision. She ignores the growing feeling that the world is moving forward without her, and pushes aside the persistent fear that she'll never get the chance to live a day entirely as herself.But, just as Harry thinks her days are becoming redundant, someone new walks into her life.Or, an au where Harry is a performer at a small Parisian cocktail lounge and is immediately enamored (and fed up), with newcomer Louis Tomlinson, who happens to stumble upon her performance, wide eyed and entirely unprepared.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 13





	Girl Crush

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!  
> I'm Al :) I'm really excited about this fic, and I hope you enjoy it!  
> It is very Harry centric and focuses a lot on her experience as a closeted trans woman in the 60's; as a genderfluid person, I used my own and some close friends' trans experiences to inspire and inform this fic (and research where I can) but I am not a trans woman, and I have never lived through the 1960's so I am far from perfect, haha. If you have any feedback(good or bad) or insights that you'd like to share, I always love to hear it so feel free to tell me your thoughts in comments!
> 
> Or, you can send me a message on my tumblr @/tomatoesarefroots, I'd be happy to talk to you about this fic or anything on your mind! <3

Harry hummed as she held a warm cup to her lips. She inhaled the soft aroma of her green tea, watching people on the sidewalk go up and down the street, smiling to herself when she saw the occasional traveler walking a dog or two. From her perch high, high up from the ground she almost felt as if she were a bird, gazing upon them from a lamppost. There wasn’t much to do on that Saturday morning; the world seemed to have allowed themselves to rest for just that single moment. A breath after a long, busy week. The clouds floated by lazily and the sun warmed Harry’s skin through the window. Despite having just woken up, she could feel the familiar embrace of sleep pulling at her. Resting her head on the window, and tucking her knees to her chest, she knows she wouldn’t dare doze off at this time of day but still took the time to at least make herself more comfortable. Saturday mornings like that were few and far between. Harry knew well enough to cherish them. Busy nights, followed by stressful days frequented her day to day life; rarely was she able to take such precious moments for herself. Despite this, Harry became aware that the time was nearing 11:00. Soon enough she would have to leave her window and actually begin her day. Last time she checked, there was barely a handful of eggs in the fridge and the fruit needed restocking. But she still pushed the time until the very last second. 

The sounds outside the glass were muffled but she could still faintly hear the music radiating from a car blasting it below. She never recognized the song but the memory was a thought that frequented her mind long after, and into the late hours of the afternoon and evening. It was those sort of things that Harry always looked forward to on her quiet mornings alone; and it was the very same things that kept her at the windowsill until the last second ticked by on her clock. Which was evidently nearing the hour as she checked. 

She shuffled over to her turntable, the record from last night was still there. Harry carefully plucked it from the peg, placing it back into its sleeve before fingering through her small but precious collection. Many of them were either purchased second hand or given to her as gifts, so the smell of old paper and slight mildew was something she couldn’t ignore as she withdrew another disc from its jacket. The soft, staticky sound of Charlie Parker filled the room. Harry was careful to avoid the furniture as she moved across the space. The collection of furnishings in her home was modest at best but a stubbed toe against the foot of her couch would hurt just as much as any other couch, in any other house. 

As she twirled and swayed across the floor, her bare feet were silent across the floorboards but they wood creaked gently with her steps. She smiled to herself, daring to close her eyes; one song moved from the next and the silk of her nightgown seemed to move like waves with the quick beat of Charlie’s saxophone. She could feel the hem flaring out just so when she spun, only to fall a moment again, barely tickling the tops of her knees. Harry felt suspended in time, free from thinking of the past or the future. She longed to stay in moments like these forever. Harry hummed along to the melody, for it was oh, so familiar to her, having heard it countless times before. She knows that if Clare were home, she’d certainly join her. Hand in hand as they tried not to step on each other’s toes. They would laugh loudly at their uncoordinated and far from professional dancing; twisting and moving across the living room. Harry thought to herself to propose a dance later that night once everyone was home. 

That being said, Harry couldn’t quite remember  _ when  _ anyone was supposed to be back that night. She looked over at the clock, as if that could provide any answers and forgot her train of thought as soon as she saw the time; it was already half past 11 and she still had groceries to buy. 

She cursed to herself but decided to keep the music on as she got ready for the day. 

Harry frowned at her closet. She had carded through her hangers at least three times and still couldn’t decide what to wear. The fact that she only had errands to run didn’t make her decision any easier. Harry huffed then finally pulled out a pair of corduroy trousers and a turtleneck. It wasn’t cold or anything but a Parisian breeze was making its way across the city and Harry would rather be safe than sorry. 

The midday rush was lively and filled the streets at Harry’s apartment complex, but was far from stuffy. She pulled on her sunglasses and absorbed the sound of cars honking, the rumble of their exhaust muffling the rhythmic tap of shoes on stone. The walk to the produce market was not unpleasant but took longer than a simple hop, skip, or jump. Despite this, Harry always found herself being the first of her floormates to offer shopping for groceries. She swears could nearly make the trip blindfolded if she tried. 

When she had the time, she tried to find new routes around the city, weaving between buildings and monuments, hopefully finding a new cafe or two. Sadly, she mistakenly left the apartment later than expected and took her normal trek. 

The patisserie was as busy as ever, bustling with people moving in and out of the swinging front door, boxes of baked goods in hand. Harry passed by the few people sitting outside, sipping their tea or coffee and wished to do the same. But she had other matters to attend to. 

She waved to Darcie, who was working the counter that morning at the boulangerie, as she passed by the windows. The scent of fresh bread just begging her to stop by. It was an aroma that filled most of her days as a baker there. Her housemates often commented on how the smell seemed to waft around her when she came home after a day of work. Harry had first taken up the baking job for the money but within a few months she’d fallen in love with learning the skill. She was anything but a pro but she could make some mean brioche. 

Just around the corner of the bakery was Harry’s destination, which on a Saturday was bound to be far from vacant. Jazz music was playing from somewhere in the stands, Harry could hear it faintly as she wandered amongst the isles of fruit and vegetables. She stopped at the oranges pressing its flesh to her nose and inhaling the fresh citrusy scent. It was a little early for their season but Harry couldn’t resist grabbing at least a couple. She moved her gaze to the baskets of berries nearby; there were all sorts, from blueberries to raspberries to blackberries, but to Harry’s disappointment, no strawberries. She picked up a bushel of grapes instead. There was a wide as ever selection of cheeses to choose from, but Harry never quite understood the difference between them all. Of course she knew her swiss from her blue cheese but what the fuck is gruyere. She decided on a wedge of provolone and a round of brie- oh! And some butter before going on with her shopping. There were thankfully still eggs left at the poultry stand, Harry picked up a carton, wiggling each one in their cup to make sure they were all intact. Happy with her findings she thanked the vendor and unsuccessfully resisted the urge to look at the fresh flowers. 

The vases and baskets were emptier from the morning rush but a handful of vibrant lilies, roses, and other flora were still available. She asked the florist for a careful bundle of white lilies and pink roses, she looked on eagerly as he wrapped it in the thick tan paper, tying it together with a string of twine. 

“Est-ce pour ta petite amie?” The florist asked with a knowing smile as he handed over her bouquet. Harry cringed and gave him a pressed smile. 

“Ah- non, elles sont pour moi…” Harry felt the tips of her ears go red with the admission, she couldn’t think of anything else to say. The florist laughed sheepishly as Harry took her change, she smiled at the florist with tight lips. They awkwardly excused quick pleasantries and Harry made a beeline from the florist’s booth. She knows how it must look, a random man, buying a bouquet of flowers for himself of all people. Harry forced herself not to think of what the florist might tell his wife or friends. She huffed, removing the thought and focused on produce instead. 

She picked up her wholesome amount of vegetables and was about to leave the market when a stand of honey caught her eye. She rarely allowed herself to indulge in the sweet golden nectar, but that day felt different; Harry allowed herself to investigate the farmer’s collection. There were jars of many sizes, all filled to the brim, and the honey inside reflected the sunlight shining through the market. Burlap bags labeled “beeswax” adored the booth, and empty mason jars held miniature vials of honey, waiting to be eaten by the nearest sweet-toothed child. 

Harry knew she wouldn’t be able to get an entire jar of honey, and instead plucked a few samples to take home with her. A few cents poorer but a little bit of honey richer, she was off again. 

She stopped just outside the market and couldn’t resist breaking the seal of the jar. She suckled on the honey as she made her way back home; the rich, sugary, sweet taste sticking to the sides of her mouth. In her head, she thanked the hard work the bees did to make the honey she was able to so happily enjoy. She liked to imagine them buzzing from flower to flower, each in their own little world, covered in pollen, buzzing amongst their other bee friends. 

The sun was at its highest by then, and it cast upon the entire city, making the store fronts glow, and the hoods of cars shine. Harry resisted the urge to grin; there weren’t words to describe her love for days like this one. 

The rest of her walk home was uneventful as ever, and her honey was long finished by the time she reached her apartment building. Tossing it in the bin out front, she made her way up through the entrance and up the several flights of stairs to her floor. Upon her arrival to her door, she was surprised to hear the record from earlier that morning ringing through the door. Had she forgotten to turn the turntable off? She swears she remembers doing so just as she had exited the apartment that day, but shrugged and drew her keys from her pocket, the confusion already forgotten. Music and the sound of clinking silverware greeted Harry as she entered the space and the pair of shoes at the door answered her previous questions. She toe’d off her loafers and met Clare in the kitchen where she was humming and scrubbing away at dishes. Clare stopped and turned at the thump of Harry placing her grocery bag on the table. 

“Good morning, H!” Clare smiled. Harry gave her a quick peck on the cheek before opening the fridge. Clare returned to her chores, “How was your morning?”

“Slow, but I’m not complaining or anything.” Harry said. She dug through her satchel, withdrawing her stock of vegetables, and organized them amongst the shelves. “It’s gorgeous this morning and -- oh! I got some honey as well.”

Clare glanced at Harry confused, honey was not a common product at their home. Harry held up the glasses with a grin. “Honey!”

“Treating ourselves today aren’t we?” Clare smirked. “You’re probably going to end up being the only one to eat that y’know.”

Harry shrugged, “And that’s a problem because…?.” She put the honey on the counter alongside the eggs and she could tell Clare was rolling her eyes. “Oh, but wait til you see these…” 

That caught Clare’s attention; she shut off the faucet and turned to Harry with an expectant look, a hip leaning against the edge of the countertop. Harry pulled the bundle of flowers from her satchel triumphantly. Clare gasped at the sight, “H, they’re gorgeous!” 

“I knoww!,” Harry drew out, “I saw them at the market and just couldn’t resist, they were just too stunning-”

“I’m gonna grab a vase for them. Be right back!” but she was already out of the kitchen. Within seconds, Clare returned with a tall white vase, “For the beauties.”

Harry laughed as Clare held it to her chest, presenting it like an auctioneer. She undid the twine and paper while Clare filled the ceramic from the tap. Clare’s choice went perfectly with the lilies and roses, “Ugh! Wonderful!”

“I think they’d be just delightful on the coffee table,” Clare concluded in a mocking aristocratic voice. She even made sure to stand a little straighter when she spoke. Harry gave her a shove with her shoulder. 

“Oh yes, absolutely divine,” Harry followed. They giggled at the counter. Harry was a loud laugher, admittedly, and she was almost sure the neighbors next door could hear the boisterous sounds of their humor. Clare shoved Harry back when she continued, “I think they would compliment the couch splendidly.” 

“Shut  _ up _ , Harry,” but the two of them only laughed harder. It was silly, to be so delighted because of such little things. But it really was that sort of day. Harry supposed she should have expected it because of how her morning began. She couldn’t wait for the others to come home. She hoped that they’d be able to do something together, or at least have a meal. 

Finally they got their grips enough that Harry could ask if Clare knew when the others were supposed to be home. 

Clare’s brows pulled together just slightly, “I think Adam’s supposed to come around 3:00? Mitch and Sarah? Oh-well, Mitch is probably working, I think Sarah wanted to catch up at the studio. C’mon stay with the schedule, H. Why, anyways?”  
“Just wondering, for dinner. I was thinking of making something,” Harry shrugged. She hops over beside where Clare has returned to the sink. 

“Don’t you have work?” Clare said, Harry grabbed a plate from the drying rack, a tea towel in hand.   
“I can prepare it before, silly. Plus I’m free until 8” —she dried the plate off, and placed it into the cupboard— “I just don’t know what to make.”

Clare snorted at Harry’s statement, “I swear if you try to do another one of your experimental dishes or whatever, I will kick you out.”  
“Hey! The last one turned out all right,” Harry argued, unconvincingly. Even Harry knew herself that her previous attempt of homemade curry was not something to brag about. 

“Harry, don't even try to argue, you put fucking kale in curry.”

“Ok but it wasn’t  _ that _ bad!” Harry pouted. 

“You wouldn’t even eat it!” Clare laughed, “And you love kale!”

“Whatever… and I don’t plan on trying anything so you don’t have anything to worry about.” Harry conceded, and was tempted to give Clare a good thwack on the arm when she heard Clare mutter a ‘I hope so’ under her breath. “Anyway, I’m going to go change.”

“You go do that, thanks for helping me with the dishes,” Clare smiled. Harry departs after a quick kiss on the cheek. 

For the second time that day, Harry was standing in front of her closet. She knew it wouldn’t be the last time she’d change that day so she concluded on grabbing something comfortable. 

She pulled on a pair of striped hot pants but kept the turtle neck. Winter on the top, summer on the bottom, she supposed. The shorts were originally her sister’s, Gemma’s, but apparently the most use they got was sitting in a drawer before being given to Harry. 

Without throwing her corduroys in the hamper, Harry fell backwards onto her bed with a sigh. She stared at her white ceilings, squinting at the specks and mysterious stains on its surface. Was a ceiling something you’re supposed to clean? Left without answers, she reached blindly to her nightstand, which admittedly was nothing more than a few milk crates stacked on top of each other, pawing and slapping at the surface until her hand rested upon the worn leather of her notebook. 

She opened it to the page previously bookmarked by a pencil, and held it above her face. Her last entry was a random doodle with a single sentence squeezed in the corner, most likely an unexplored idea for a song. She flipped through the other pages, reading over her writing. Nothing seemed to come to mind when she turned to a fresh page. Harry let out a sigh, tapping the paper with the eraser of her pencil. She had a bad habit of chewing the end when she was thinking, and the metal of the pencil was embarrassingly and noticeably dented with her teeth marks. 

Harry let the open book fall on her face in defeat. Clearly she didn’t have much persistence when there were no ideas coming to mind. She tried humming melodies, notes, anything to maybe get her mind running. Crickets. 

-

The sound of the front door opening and the thud of a bag being placed on the ground woke Harry up. Of course she had dozed off; the notebook was still open on her face. It fell into her lap as she sat up. 

She scrubbed a hand over her face, it was still light outside at least. Voices floated from the other room but it wasn’t clear enough that Harry could hear who it was that came home or what they were talking about. The time on the clock gave Harry the hint that it was most likely Adam. 

The bed creaked as she swung her legs over the side. She gave her face a final rub and stretched her arms over her head before getting up. 

“There you are!” Clare said. “What were you doing? I was just about to check on you.”

“Sleep- I accidentally fell asleep,” Harry replied, and wiped a crusty from her eye, yawning, if that was any indication that she just woke up. 

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” Adam said as Harry did a quick twist, he cringed when her back made an audible crack. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry waved him off and padded to the kitchen. Clare and Adam were finishing their previous conversation when Harry piped up, “What do you want for dinner?”

“Wha- Harry it’s 3 pm!” Adam returned. He appeared in the kitchen entryway. 

Harry shook her head, “No, I’m not going to make you eat right now, I just want to get ideas later.”

“Oh, you’re cooking?- wait please don’t tell me you’re going to try anything or-” Adam started, Harry could hear Clare snort from the living room. 

“That’s exactly what-” Harry said, exasperated, but Clare cut her off. 

“-what I said!” Clare finished. “I told her I would kick her out if she did!”

“Would the two of you shut it!” Harry rolled her eyes, “I just want to do something nice!”

“Ok, ok, sorry, we’re done,” Adam said. 

“I’m not!” Clare protested, “Don’t test me, Harry, my bowels nor my taste buds were very happy with your last test trial!”

“Oh my god, I’m  _ going  _ to kill her,” Harry muttered. Adam was smiling, clearing getting a kick out of their exchange. “I’m not doing anything like that, Clare!”

“If you say so, H,” Clare replied. Harry slapped a hand to his forehead. 

“Can you believe this, Adam? We just had this same conversation two hours ago,” Harry said. Adam was still smirking and Harry wished she had something like grapes nearby so she could throw them at Adam’s grinning face. She knows the curry she made a couple months ago wasn’t great but it wasn’t terrible. It didn’t give them food poisoning or anything like that. 

Adam leaned onto the counter, “You should make a quiche.”  
Harry nodded and pursed her lips, it was a good idea. Plus, it wasn’t too difficult or time consuming, but the only issue was— “Wait but if I make a quiche I need to make pie crust.”

“Is that really that bad?” Adam said. “I could help if you really wanted.”

“No, I just don’t like doing it,” Harry groaned, it was so much work making pie crust. Having to fold all the layers of butter, chill it, not to mention how finicky it was. But Harry was mostly just whining and exaggerating the whole thing. Plus, she did just get fresh eggs and produce this morning so a quiche would be a good idea. “A quiche does sound good though Adam. Thanks, I think we’ll have a quiche.”

Adam shrugged and stood up from the counter. “Sounds good, H.”

Harry opened the fridge to see if there was anything she was missing but was happily satisfied with the stash they had. When she closed the fridge and stood up, Adam had already left and was reclined in a chair, feet propped up on the coffee table and plucking at a guitar. Harry brought her notebook from her bedroom and took a seat in the chair beside Adam. Clare was laying length wise on the couch, reading from a book. 

Harry, again, desperately tried to think of any lines or lyrics but her pencil made its way into her mouth, still unable to conjure up anything. 

She stared down the flowers on the table, part of her was hoping that maybe they would somehow give her some answers. Her thoughts floated to work, she was supposed to perform at  _ La Lune _ that night. She barely considered singing at the cocktail lounge work, although she got paid, she enjoyed it far too much to ever think of it as a job or a chore. It was one of the few places that allowed her to show up as herself and the other girls there were nice as well, so Harry couldn’t really complain. She hadn’t yet decided what to sing;  _ Will You Love Me Tomorrow _ was usually her go to but she thought she’d shake it up for that night. 

Something about that day felt different. 

Harry flipped through her notebook, looking for a song to sing. She knew that her boss wouldn’t let her perform one of her own that night, so those were off the table. But then again, overthinking it wouldn’t help her at all. 

She wrote absentmindedly until there was the jingle of keys approaching outside their door. Clare glanced over the back of the couch to see who it was, Adam kept his gaze on his instrument, barely phased. Sarah shouldered through the door, bags in hand. Harry got up from her seat to assist her. Sarah was carrying her usual tote bag with her sticks and notes, but the large duffle was new. It looked heavy. Harry grabbed it and gave her a questioning look as she placed it by the front door. 

“Some instruments and stuff,” Sarah answered. Adam and Clare looked up from their seats in interest. She didn’t say what instruments specifically but Harry was pretty sure they’d find out soon enough. Sarah took an exaggerated breath when she was finally settled, but then again, lugging a duffel bag up multiple flights of stairs didn’t seem like a cake walk. “Just some stuff to experiment with and try out.”

Sarah was always encouraging the group to explore different sounds, but she had never brought home a bag of instruments. With that, Clare piped up from the couch, “The duffel is new.”  
“Oh, yeah. The studio let me borrow a couple things for the weekend, they said it’d be cool if we tried them out,” Sarah shrugged, “Nothing too extraordinary, but definitely some stuff in here we don’t have or barely use.”

Clare stood and then brought herself over the back of the couch. “May I take a look?”

“Be my guest,” Sarah said, gesturing to the bag. She then went to the kitchen which was followed by the clinking of glass and the sound of the faucet. Harry took a squat beside Clare, watching as she unzipped the top. “H, did you get honey?” Sarah called from the kitchen.

“Yeah, just felt like the right sort of day too,” Harry replied, her eyes still focused on Clare as she pulled out a cowbell followed by smaller hand drums. “You’re welcome to have some if you’d like.”

“I’m alright, I was just curious,” Sarah said, she had returned from the kitchen as was observing Harry and Clare fiddling with the instruments. “You just never buy it that’s all.”  
“Today just felt like the right day, k’now?” Harry supposed, “Can you tell I had a great morning?” 

Her question was supposed to be rhetorical but Sarah answered it anyway. 

She laughed, “That must explain the flowers I suppose?”

“Wow, you can see right through me, Sarah,” Harry said sarcastically, “But do you like them at least?”  
Sarah gave Harry a gentle kiss on the top of her head, “Of course; you made a great choice. I was just teasing.”

“I know, I know. I still wanted to make sure you liked them,” Harry replied. She pulled out a tan and almost oblong object from the bag, it had ridges along the side and was hollow. “Never seen this before.”

“Oh! You use it like this, wait-” Sarah took it into her hands and dug through the duffle until she found a wooden rod, thinner than your average drumstick, and ran it along the ridges of the hollow body. It made quick almost clicking noises, it reminded Harry of when she’d run a fingernail across the teeth of a comb. “It’s called a uh, guirdo, guiro? Guira? Yeah Guiro or Gurira- isn’t it cool?”

“I’ve never used one before either, but the sound is familiar,” Clare said. 

Harry stood from the floor, “I think I’m going to start preparing dinner.”

“Okay, H,” Sarah smiled, “What are we having?”  
“Quiche,” Adam supplied from the couch, he was watching the girls look through the different instruments but was still too caught up in his own to go over. 

“Let me know if you need any help,” and as if Sarah could read minds she filled with, “Oh, and Mitch should be home soon, I think his shift ends at 5.”

Harry thanked her and carefully weaved his way through the mess of instruments that had grown on the floor. In the kitchen, she took the butter from the fridge, and dug through the pantry until she found the jar of flour. Thankfully, it wasn’t expired. She gathered the rest of her ingredients on the counter and began her least favorite part of making a quiche. 

While she did know her way around breads, pastries were not her forte. They were finicky and troublesome, despite their minimal ingredients. While she knew that others would argue that bread is much more confusing, Harry would beg to differ. Make sure the butter is cold, remember to fold, if the water is warm, well you’ve basically failed already, work quickly, mix thoroughly but not  _ too  _ thoroughly. Though, it was completely possible that she was just overthinking it. Baking bread was second nature to her, the kneading of the dough, knowing how many minutes were the perfect amount to let it rest, shaping it, baking until it was crisp on the outside and pillowy inside. It was an art. An art with a delicious outcome at that. 

She frowned as she tried to gauge whether she needed more water, or if she just hadn’t mixed enough. Refusing to take too long on the crust, she would rather have a crust that was a little drier and more crumbly than one that was overworked and dense. Using a damp tea towel, Harry wiped down the countertop, followed by a generous sprinkle of flour. She slapped the dough onto the surface and was ready to make her crust but she realized she was missing a rolling pin. 

Last time she’d checked, there was one somewhere in the cabinets. But even after she searched each and every one there weren’t any to be found. 

“Have you guys seen the rolling pin?” Harry called out to the living room. 

“Um, maybe check the cabinet to the right of the one under the sink.” Clare tried. 

“I swear I already looked at the- Oh! Here it is, found it, thanks!” It was underneath some other packaged goods, and cans, it clearly had been sitting there for some time. 

Finally Harry flattened her dough into a round sheet, applying more flour on the top before laying the pie tin facedown onto the dough. She cut a quite rugged circle around the tin before lifting the extra outside edge. Perfect for decorating. 

Getting the dough into the tin without any rips or tears was by far the most anxiety inducing part of the whole process. Harry considered asking one of the girls or Adam to help but she was determined. No measly pie crust was going to defeat her, unless it did end up ripping then she supposed it was Crust - 1, Harry - 0 for this round. 

Taking a deep breath she shimmied her fingers beneath the fragile dough and held her breath as she quickly, quickly, quickly transferred it into the baking tray. She let out a sigh of relief when she was left with a smooth and intact sheet of pie crust. Harry - 1, Crust - 0. 

She pressed it into the tin and used the spare dough to make perfectly crimped edges. She’d always had a knack of careful and delicate fingers. 

Once the crust was in the oven she began on the custard. Pulling a bowl from the cupboard, she hummed to herself as she cracked each egg into the bowl, followed by cream, and seasoning. She swayed as she whisked. Bobbing her head as she rinsed the spinach and cut the spare sausage and other vegetables she retrieved from the fridge. Harry was nearly finished with combining the filling when her timer dinged. As she opened the oven door, she dramatically leaned away from the hot air escaping from it and was delightfully pleased to see the crust colored perfectly. She put it on the counter beside her mixing bowl. The custard got one last whisk before it was poured into the crust. 

Carefully and slowly she put quiche into the oven and set her timer. The time it took to bake the quiche was just enough that she could clean the counter and begin to get ready for the night. It was almost 5:00 pm. Their meal would most likely be a little earlier than usual but Harry was sure the rest wouldn’t mind. 

Harry had already washed all the mixing bowls and utensils, and was in the middle of wiping down the countertops when she heard Mitch enter the apartment. 

After a greeting and a brief conversation between the other three and Mitch, he appeared in the kitchen entryway. Harry paused from her cleaning to acknowledge her friend. 

“Hey, H. What’s going on?” Mitch asked. He was adjusting his sleeves as Harry answered. 

“A little bit of cleaning, I just finished making a quiche for dinner.”

“Sounds good,” Mitch nodded, Harry noted his slightly frazzled hair, as usual. The hat Mitch wore as a part of his work uniform, which he was still wearing, often left his hair sticking up in unique places by the end of the day once he took the hat off at home. 

“How was the shift today?” Harry asked. She knew it could go one way or the other. Sometimes the roads and routes were peaceful, on the other hand, there were times when the streets were packed and Mitch was forced to squeeze through traffic. As a mailman Mitch couldn’t really go home until everything was delivered, and back up on the roads have definitely forced him to go overtime in the past. 

“Not horrible actually, at least the weather was nice,” Mitch contemplated, he sounded content. But then again, it was nearly unignorable to know when Mitch had had a bad day at work. 

“That’s good to hear,” Harry smiled. “I’m happy to hear that.”

“Thanks, H. How was yours?” Mitch asked as he took a seat on a chair placed beside the doorway. 

“Well, I went to the market this morning and they had fresh flowers and honey so I think I would consider it delightful.” Harry chirped, it was relieving being in this good of a mood. She felt she had a tendency to spread that feeling to the people around her also. 

“That doesn’t happen too often,” Mitch said, he would know the best out of the rest of the group. Behind Harry, Mitch was most always the next one in line to offer making a trip to the market. “You’ll have to tell me more about it later, I’m going to go change for now.”

Harry hummed an affirmative and had already returned to cleaning. 

-

Everyone thankfully enjoyed the quiche, so Harry promised to make it again in the future. She was the first to leave the table—also the coffee table in their living room—and put her empty plate in the sink. She smiled softly, not only glad that her cooking was a success, but also that everyone was able to enjoy it together. It was seldom all their schedules aligned enough that they could eat together. Eating out or ordering was a common occurrence. She wasn’t even entirely convinced that Mitch knew how to cook a meal for himself. 

In her room her show clothes hang on an open rack, partially so they don’t get wrinkled in the closet, but also for display. A rainbow of vibrant hues and textures. Harry pulls a peach sleeveless dress from the hanger and stands in front of her mirror, holding the dress to her body. She hums, contemplating. It compliments her dark chestnut hair and just barely cinches at the waist. Considering the other options she has, the peach dress seems like the best fit. After carefully laying the dress flat on her bed, she begins the long process of getting ready. Growing up she’d always been the last out of the house; always obsessing over her hair or clothing. Once she started wearing makeup and actually doing her hair beyond just a brushing in the morning, her time in front of her vanity was made even longer. 

Harry was grateful that she had already taken the time to tuck earlier in the day so she didn’t have to worry about it just before a performance. Although it wasn’t necessarily needed when wearing trousers or a loose dress, it was just as much for her own comfort as it was for the appearance. She took a second longer to admire the smooth plane of her pelvis in the mirror after pulling on her undergarnments for the evening. Despite her broad shoulders she was grateful for her mother’s genetics for blessing her with a pinched waist. 

Harry’s cosmetic collection was admittedly small but growing each day(thanks to Clare and Sarah), despite this, her vanity was rarely organized. Lipstick tubes stood upright against the mirror, and scattered the tabletop, along with cases of mascara and an assortment of eyeshadows and other miscellaneous products. 

Getting dressed came last, after finishing her makeup. Carefully, she shimmied into the peach dress, making sure not to pull too hard at any seams, and resisted the urge to get frustrated at each stubborn catch of the zipper. Harry took one last look in the mirror, all that was left to put on were a pair of shoes; with that and a reminder to grab her guitar on the way out, she was off!

The night was still a little early for the lounge to be at all busy. But behind the main floor, the staff hallways and dressing rooms were buzzing with people. Harry was thrilled to see some familiar faces, including the one and only Kacey Musgraves. She had a voice like honey, moved from America overseas for music. And Harry was grateful. They had become quick friends months ago when Harry first started performing at  _ La Lune _ , Kacey claims to have been enamored when she first laid eyes on Harry, but Harry could never believe her. Why, Kacey was gorgeous beyond explanation; a gentle smile, wide eyes, glittering black hair, Harry could only dream to look like her. Many of their conversations consisted of friendly banter of who was the prettier one. Well, not really… but  _ really.  _

“H, you look just lovely this evening,” Kacey exclaimed as soon as she spotted Harry amongst the many faces. Almost immediately Kacey greeted Harry with a peck on each cheek and a look at Harry’s dress. She placed her hands at Harry’s hips and gasped, “This dress is gorgeous, where in the world did you find such a thing?”

Harry blushed, Kasey always knew how to brighten her day. “Thanks, Kacey. Y’know that consignment shop just down the street? I found it there buried amongst the other hangers. I can’t even describe how long I had been there before I found this beauty.”

“I guess the time taken was worth it because you look about as delectable as a peach on a summer’s day, H.” Kacey beamed. She was wearing a navy blue dress that shimmered in the dim light and fell effortlessly to the floor. 

“Well, look at you, Kacey,” Harry replied, she couldn’t ignore her companion’s appearance. “The ocean could never imagine being as rich as the blue of this dress you’re wearing.”

“Oh, stop it,” Kacey said back. They both laughed, knowing what they were about to fall into. “Well good luck as always. I think you’re performing last, I just know you’re going to be show stopping.”

“You too, Kacey.” Harry pulled her into a tight hug. They held each other for a brief second before pulling apart. “Much love. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Always,” She affirmed. 

-

As Harry waited, she sat on an old couch in the break room filing her nails. She could hear the girls and the notes of the piano singing through the wall, she closed her eyes and listened when Kacey came on stage. She was singing her own song that night, and it nearly lulled Harry to sleep. 

A knock on the door broke her out of her eased state of mind and she sat upright with a startle. 

One of the waiters poked his head in, “You’re on soon,” and left. Harry stood and smoothed out her dress, sliding her shoes back on—which she had forgotten she’d taken off—and took a deep breath to soothe her nerves, despite having been performing for much of her life, her stomach still threatened to upchuck her last eaten meal at the anticipation of being onstage. With a final straightening of her dress and a quick check of her hair, she went to the dressing room where her guitar was. 

She was luckily able to find an empty spot along the wall to prop her case against, and did a routine check to make sure it was all in tune. Happy with the sound, she made her way to the stage entrance. The only things standing between Harry and the audience was a single door, painted black, and so worn down she could begin to see some of the paint chipping off and the doorknob was always a little loose. She heard hushed conversation and the final notes of Kacey’s song fading out as she waited backstage, it made her heartbeat thump in her ears. Kacey thanked the crowd and within seconds met Harry at the stage entrance. 

“You sounded great out there.”

She gave Harry a warm smile and a tight hug, “Try not to make anyone fall in love with you okay?” Kacey joked. Harry rolled her eyes,  _ as if that would ever happen, _ she thought. But, she didn’t say anything and hugged Kacey once more before they parted ways. 

_ La Lune _ was far from the most extravagant in Paris, but they tried their best. The stage ran along one wall, facing a crowd of plush burgundy seats dispersed amongst round tables with a cocktail bar to her right which was lined with velvet lined cushioned stools. Carpeting covered the surface of the entire floor like the sea. A handful of people sat in solitude at the barside, others gathered in small groups at the tables. Harry smiled as she spotted the familiar faces of the regulars, noting the scattered number of newcomers as well. 

“Bonsoir, je m’appelle H. Je chanterai  _ Girl Crush _ ce soir. C’est bon de vous voir,” Harry purred into the mic; like every performer she had a voice specially reserved for her time on stage. A few people turned their attention to Harry, gazing on as she blushed just barely and adjusted the strap of her guitar on her shoulder. She cleared her throat, smiled once more, and said in English, “Enjoy.” 

Before moving to Paris, she had never learned to play the guitar; it was only until she met Mitch she properly picked one up. She played every single day, pestering Mitch at his door before they had moved in together, begging him to teach her a new technique or strum pattern. Harry refused to put the instrument down until her fingers were sore and bleeding. By that night, the guitar felt like a vital organ to her performance, she could never imagine playing without it. Especially that song. The notes came out of her as fluently as a first language. She noticed a couple more people looked her way as she began to sing. Her voice was as smooth as butter, rich and captivating as it filled the space of the lounge. 

The song was about a girl singing about another girl, wishing she were her, not because she liked her but instead so she could get the attraction of an ex. Wanting to wear the other woman’s perfume, have her hair, her voice, just to catch the attention of the man she loves. While Harry wasn’t jealous of any girl because of a man, she felt the jealousy of another woman deep in her gut. The number of times she had seen mothers in the shop round with her unborn child, girls giggling as they swatched makeup in the store, or the high cheekbones and delicate waist of the models in her fashion magazines. It was the root of countless sleepless nights, cocooned tight, tight, tight in her bedsheets, as if like a butterfly, she would wake up from her slumber, reborn, beautiful, colorful, with the ability to fly. It was what caused her to avoid mirrors as a teen, crying and tearing at the hair on her body, wishing she was just a couple centimeters shorter. 

Her lyrics flowed from deep in her chest and into the microphone, relaxed and absorbed in her own experience as she focused on the feeling of her calluses against the metal strings. Normally, she would have a backup band behind her, sometimes Mitch, Sarah, Adam, and Clare on the nights she was allowed to sing her own songs, but that night it was just her and her guitar. Harry, in solitude on the stage, standing before her audience. 

-

As she played the chords of the bridge, she caught sight of an unfamiliar face staring at her from the bar. His torso was twisted right to face her. Both of his hands rested on the counter, fingers gently framing a short glass with a finger of what looked like whiskey. But he wasn’t paying attention to his drink. Harry stared back at the strange man, holding his gaze as she sang the final lines of the song. She was too far away to see his face well, but he never broke their eye contact, she could tell that even from many feet away. He wore an off-white button down, but that may have been the lighting, with a long tie, and an almost caramel colored jacket, with matching trousers. She could tell his hair had been cleanly gelled, but by her performance that evening, some of it must’ve come loose, causing a few strands to threaten to fall into his face in wisps. 

Harry felt the corners of her lips just barely pull up, she resisted the urge to smirk at him as she leaned forward, not even a centimeter from the mic, cooing the last words of the song. She was the first to break their stare. Harry stood up straight, almost leaning back as she closed her eyes and tilted her face up at the ceiling. She strummed the last chords, swaying back and forth to its leisurely beat. When she finally played the final notes, she let out a long sigh, almost a release. Harry realized she performs  _ Girl Crush _ much too seldom, the feeling she got following the song was the same every time. She basked in it, in the spotlight on her. She was well aware there weren't more than twenty people in the lounge but hey, if two’s a crowd. 

The rest of her performance were her usual songs, and went as smoothly as ever. The man by the bar never looked away, and if he did, Harry certainly didn’t catch it. He twitched his fingers ever so often on his glass, as if he was considering taking a sip but didn’t think it was worth it to risk missing a glimpse of Harry. 

When her time on stage was up, it was nearly one am, the last hour was usually filled by the jazz band, playing until they closed for the night. Harry normally would have gone home after her performance but something curious compelled her to seek out the new man she had spotted. 

She exited through the staff door, leading her to the main floor, somewhere she admittedly was rarely found. Harry did a quick glance around and smiled when her gaze settled on a particular brown suit. The man was just finishing paying for his drink, clearly getting ready to leave for the night, when Harry hustled her way across the lounge floor. 

The jazz band rang throughout the lounge, a soundtrack to her quest to find out more about this mysterious newcomer. While newcomers were less common than their number of regulars, it was nearly unknown for someone to stare at Harry so intensely, especially while she was on stage. She was just about to reach a hand out and tap the man’s shoulder, when she jerked her hand back, deciding on keeping her distance. 

She rocked on her feet before muttering, “excusez moi.” The man turned to face Harry suddenly, if he had jumped, Harry would’ve been almost certain she surprised him. Harry smiled, “Um-sorry. I-bonjour.”

Harry could see when the man realized who she was, if he wasn’t caught off guard before, he certainly was then, “...Um, bonjour,” it was then that Harry realized he definitely wasn’t French. Anyone could tell from the clearly absent accent. The consonants of the word sounded clunky coming out of the man’s mouth. She was tempted to giggle. She also realized he was much prettier up close. He had bright blue eyes, crisp like the ice of a glacier, and high cheekbones that even she was jealous of. He had a slight five o’clock shadow, most likely freshly shaven from that morning or at least a recent one. 

“Oh, sorry. Hello,” Harry immediately corrected, it wasn’t common that she found another foreigner. And rarely did she come across anyone that spoke French worse than her. “I’m H, the… -I was just on stage and I just wanted to-”

“Right, my apologies,” The man replied, Harry could see his eyes glancing over her, taking her in. “You sounded great, I just didn’t- you’re taller than I expected.”  
Harry assumed he meant it as a joke but his words swiftly harpooned through Harry’s chest. She forced herself to grin without showing her emotions on the surface. “Thank you… I suppose… You must be new here, yes?”

The man nodded, slipping his wallet into his coat pocket. “That obvious huh,” 

“Oh no, no, not at all, I just am a regular performer so I’ve come to recognize faces.” She flustered, she also bit her tongue to block the admission of being unable to avoid a pretty face like his, to come out. The man nodded and sighed in relief, processing her words. “We usually have a lot of the same fellows so… you know how it is.” 

Harry blushed just the tiniest bit and realized why in the world would this random businessman know how it is, but the man nodded in agreement regardless, albeit looking just a little confused. He avoided eye contact as he stood from the bar stool. Harry felt her hearts clench, the tiny spark of hope to share at least a drink with the man, fizzled out. She took a step away, his message couldn’t be any clearer. “Well, I better get going, can’t be out too late,” He chuckled, adjusting his jacket. 

Harry felt like kicking herself, of course this man would be off put by a random person approaching them, nonetheless one of the some-what female looking staff members. She flushed a bright red but managed to get out a “not even a name?” just as the man was about ready to turn tail and leave. 

“Louis,” the man, Louis, supplied, “It was nice to meet you.” 

Harry nodded, her stomach was doing twists and turns, and not in a good way. Rarely was she ever the one to approach strangers, and the one time she musters up the courage to do so it falls apart right in front of her face. “Of course. It’s always nice to see a fresh face come around.”

Louis hummed, “You do this with every gentleman who comes by?” Harry’s face heated up, she knew he could see right through her and never felt more embarrassed in her life. 

She let out an awkward chuckle nonetheless, “I always try to make my rounds after a performance when I have the time,” she lied. But Louis seemed to buy it, he simply nodded. “It was nice to meet you,” Harry finished. 

“You as well,” Louis replied, and before Harry knew it, he left the lounge, leaving Harry to marinate in her regret and humiliation. It didn’t help that she was standing a foot from the bar, tempted to drink the entire night from her memory. But, for a woman, and especially a woman like her, it wasn’t best to be inherently drunk while trying to walk home in the middle of the night. So she resisted the urge to wallow, and huffed, stomping off to the back room. 

As she packed up her guitar in the dressing room, Louis' words rang over and over in her head, “You’re taller than I expected,” his voice echoed. Harry wanted nothing more than to make her thoughts shut up. She shook her head, and wouldn’t allow her ideas to spiral any further. Louis was just some random stranger, he knew nothing about Harry or her personal life, or certainly her identity. But, the implication of his comment was cauterized into her memory and she couldn’t seem to let it go. Forget how he acted when he realized who she was, how quickly he seemed to gather his things to leave, how it was barely past midnight when he made the comment of not staying out too late. The comment about her height meant that all the work she put in for her makeup, her appearance, the way she walked and carried her shoulders, hell her fucking voice, meant nothing. It made her unexplainably frustrated, and brought out the ugly pessimism from deep in her soul. 

Harry sat back on her heels and took a handful of deep breaths, focused on the rise and fall of her chest, the contraction of her diaphragm. Louis’ comment meant  _ nothing.  _ With that, she pushed the thoughts to the back of her head and shouldered her way through the dressing room door and made her way home. 

The apartment was quiet when she entered the door but all the lights were on and she was not surprised when she was met with Mitch, Sarah, Adam, and Clare all seated on the floor, gathered around the coffee table. They were playing poker, Harry assumed, if the chips and cards said anything. The four of Harry’s roommates looked up at the sound of the door unlocking. 

“Hey, H. How was work?” Sarah asked. Was she in for a story, Harry thought. With Harry’s deep sigh and the sight of her running a hand through her hair, Sarah set her cards down on the table. “Not great, I presume?”

Harry shook her head, she didn’t even bother to change or take off her makeup when she flopped down on the couch behind where Clare was sitting. “The performance was great and everything, it was just…” Harry huffed, she hated bringing the mood down, would rather forget about the whole thing and clock out on the couch to the voices of her friends in the background. 

“Just what?” Clare asked, she was turned completely so her chin was rested on the edge of the couch cushion. 

“Nothing, sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt your game,” Harry said, “Don’t worry about me.” 

“That’s kind of tough when you come in looking like someone just spilled coffee on your lap,” Sarah laughed. Harry scrubbed her hands over her face, Sarah was right, and she knew that there was no letting this go now that Sarah and Clare were interested. “Harryyy… ”

“...There was just this guy… -” Harry muttered. That caught everyone’s attention. 

“A guy,” Mitch smirked. 

“Mitch, shut up or I  _ will _ throw a pillow at you,” Harry quipped. “It isn’t anything good, so don’t get your hopes up.” She could tell that Clare was pouting without even looking. Harry let out another long breath. She groaned as she dug the heels of her palms into her eyes. With a final huff she rolled onto her side to face the group. “So there was this  _ new guy _ at the lounge tonight, and usually that’s nothing to note but he was fucking  _ staring  _ at me during my  _ entire _ fucking set, like eye contact for the whole performance type of staring. So, I- for some reason- thought it would be a good idea to talk to him after my portion. Plus, he was fucking hot,” Harry says with a tone of voice that just barely edges the territory of disgust. “And so I go up to him at the bar, where he’s sitting, and to start off he looks at me like I have three damn heads, and then says I’m  _ taller _ than he expected. But I’m thinking that maybe he meant it as a joke or something but then he gets up and gathers his things like the white rabbit of Alice in Wonderland. But anyway, I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life and I now want to forget all human interaction I’ve ever experienced in my life, because that was  _ shit. _ ”

Harry is nearly out of breath when she finishes and her four housemates barely look phased. 

“Well, he sounds like a dick, H. I don’t think it was you,” Sarah shrugged. Harry sighed, the thought had definitely crossed her mind but she highly doubted that possibility. It seemed like nothing more than Harry coming off too strong and scaring him off. 

“I don’t know… I’m going to try not to think of the tall thing too much,” Harry conceded. 

“Good idea, forget that son of a bitch!” Clare nodded. Harry chuckled, repressing the smile that was threatening to take over her face. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said, not wanting to dwell in the negative atmosphere any longer. “Anywho, poker, huh?”

“You wanna join?” Sarah asked. 

Harry sent her a funny look, “Is that even possible?”  
Sarah shrugged, “I’m sure we could figure something out.” 

Harry shook her head, “It’s alright, I didn’t really want to play, you guys can continue your round. I’m just going to watch.” With a pause, the four of them waited a final moment before accepting her answer and going back to their cards. 

She was able to keep herself awake and observe for a little until her eyelids began to grow heavy and her friend’s voices became increasingly muffled and distant. 


End file.
